It's Spelled Jill
by Saru Wolfe
Summary: A MarySue and a reluctant, sarcastic selfinsert are put into the same story. What happens when they go after the same man? Chaos... and hilarity. Can they ever be friends? I think not. And I'm the Author.
1. Prologue

**Author's Note: This is in no way to be taken seriously. I'm just having a little fun. This prologue is mainly to set the stage; the good stuff comes later. Yes, it is a prologue. That's why it's so short.**

**Disclaimer: If I owned Pirates... Elizabeth would have died, Norrington wouldn't, and Davy and Calypso would have had a happy ending. As it is, I'm stuck with writing fanfiction. Isn't life funny?**

I awoke slowly.

The first thing I noticed was a slight balmy smell. It was pleasant. Then there was the sound of ocean waves. There was probably a rocky shore nearby. The sound almost lulled me back to sleep, but curiosity nagged at me from the back of my mind. I forced my eyed open. Light – too bright! I squeezed my eyes shut.

"Ouch," I said intelligently.

I heard a loud squeal from my right. "You're awake!"

"I'm glad you noticed." I shaded my eyes this time and sat up. I was in a bed, which was in a room – a small, wooden room. There was an open window just to my left, thus explaining the brightness. There was a young woman about my age sitting in a chair on my right.

I was deciding on which question to ask first when she went ahead and told me everything. "I found you yesterday on the beach. You had washed up on shore. Of course, I took you to the closest inn and cared for your injuries tirelessly throughout the night." She paused. "You're in Tortuga, by the way. My name is Cerilea."

Cerilea waited patiently while I stared. I had just woken up; it was too early for this. After a while, I licked my lips and said, "Hi… Cerilea. I'm Jill."

Cerilea grinned. "Ooh! Is that spelled with a 'y' and only one 'l'?"

"Er… no."

Cerilea looked disappointed. "Well, my full name is Cerilea Pearl Shauna Eve Turner, but you can just call me Cerilea."

"I'll do that," I said slowly. I looked this girl up and down. Was she serious? She certainly looked the part. She was petite, but curvaceous. Her long, wavy, raven hair positively _glimmered_ in the sunlight. Her eyes were oddly pale sea foam green. Suddenly, somewhere in my sleepy brain, something clicked. "Wait. We're in Tortuga?" She nodded. Great – there was only one place I had heard of Tortuga from. "And your last name is Turner?" Again, she nodded.

I got a very foreboding feeling about the whole situation. "We're in Tortuga as in the pirate port of pandemonium?" (The English language entertains me.)

"Yes. This place is horrible."

"Then why are you here?"

"Two years ago, I ran away from my horribly abusive adoptive parents in England in search of my older brother Will, stowing away on a ship, but he wasn't at Port Royal, so I had to sign myself onto a merchant ship's crew to roam the Caribbean, hoping for a clue as to where Will was, but then just as I felt I was getting close, we shipwrecked off the shore of Tortuga and I was the only survivor; I just barely managed to make it to shore, but this place is horrible and now I'd do almost _anything_ to get out of here," she gushed.

I had the overwhelming urge to write down that obnoxious sentence and brutally edit it, but there were more important matters to attend to. I got up.

"There's a bathroom over there where you can clean up," she said helpfully.

"Thanks." I went over to the water basin and splashed my face. I peered into the mirror above it. I had short, reddish-brown hair and bushy eyebrows of the same color. My eyes were hazel (a good word for not knowing exactly what color your eyes are). I frowned and wrinkled my freckled nose.

Something about this was bothering me. I was in the Pirates of the Caribbean world, obviously. I wasn't stunningly gorgeous. And I knew all about the story. It hit me.

"Oh, no," I moaned. I put my hands to my face. "I'm a freaking self-insert!" I looked upward. Someone was about to know that I was seriously ticked off. "Why me?" I screamed at the ceiling. "Take me back! I don't deserve this!" Even though I knew it was in my mind, I thought I could hear the Author laughing cruelly at me from the other side of the screen.

**Just as I side note, the self-insert does not, in fact, look like me. You'll see the point of this later.**

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	2. The Receptionist

**Author's Note: The first chapter is, I assure you, better than the prologue. Read it and laugh. And then review.**

**Disclaimer: I own Jill (spelled J-I-L-L) and Cerilea (whose name I sometimes have trouble spelling while typing this). The rest belongs to someone else.**

Thus, I found myself with Cerilea, walking – or rather, dodging – along the _lively_ streets of Tortuga. This was most definitely the madhouse city I remembered from the movie. Fights broke out over whose piece of gutter was filthier. Guns and small explosives went off everywhere. Women dressed in naught but handkerchiefs led drunken men into dark alleys. I decided not to think about that too much. All this was accompanied by a cacophony of shouting, multilingual cursing, and screaming.

Cerilea strode down the road with determination. You had to give her this: she wasn't scared. She walked like she owned the place. Now, I've found that a certain amount of confidence makes you look like less of a victim. However, use too much and you'll only call attention to yourself. Cerilea's level of self-assurance could safely be labeled as "too much."

"What _are _you looking for?" I asked at last.

"The innkeeper said that a new ship had just made port. Maybe they're willing to take a couple of extra crew members."

"You mean one crew member and one passenger," I corrected her. "You forget that I have no idea what to do with all those ropes."

She shrugged, pursing her lips. "We'll have to see what kind of ship it is."

"Then why don't we go toward the port?" I suggested, jerking a thumb back behind us. "It's the other way."

"This is a shortcut."

"How is this way a shortcut? We're going in the opposite direction!"

She gave me a patient look and didn't respond. I decided that I'd rather not be in the middle of Tortuga by myself, so I kept following her. In less than five minutes, we arrived at the port.

I hate being wrong.

"There," Cerilea said. She pointed at an unsurprisingly familiar ship. "That wasn't there yesterday." Suddenly, her eyes got wider.

"It's got black sails," I said helpfully, grinning. This girl might be a bit irritating, but if I stuck with her, I could be entitled to a free ride through this story.

She gasped. "That's the _Black Pearl_!"

"Really." My sarcasm went unnoticed.

"I've heard stories about this ship! It's supposed to be sailed by cursed pirates!"

"Cursed pirates have to be better that this psychotic place." I spotted a few figures making their way from everyone's favorite ship to a nearby tavern. "At any rate, there's only one way to find out."

Amazingly, she agreed with me. "It'll be an adventure!" she said as we made our way to the tavern.

"You don't call Tortuga an adventure?"

Once we were inside, I knew we were in the right place. Gibbs was at a desk, resembling a very annoyed receptionist. "Captain Sparrow's office, how may I help you? I'm sorry, he's drinking – I mean, he's in a meeting right now. Who shall I tell him to get back to?" The thought made me laugh.

"He's hiring," I said, indicating the aforementioned secretary.

Cerilea walked up first. "Now, lass," Gibbs said with an insincerely sweet smile, "what makes you think you're worthy to crew the _Black Pearl_?"

"I have experience with the…"

"That's wonderful. Sign here, please." She signed, though doubtfully, and I stepped up. "What makes you think you can crew the _Black Pearl_?"

"I can't," I said truthfully, "but I can learn. I'm desperate. You're desperate. Let's just work this out without any questions."

He shrugged, but shoved the paper toward me. I signed. I turned to go and almost ran into the next person in line. It was a man, though disheveled. He glared down at me from shaded eyes. I grinned sheepishly and sidestepped him. It didn't occur to me until several seconds and a long distance later that that was probably Norrington. I turned back around to say something just in time to see him flip the table over. Great, I thought. It's time to find a hole to hide in.

I looked for Cerilea. She was on the opposite side of the room, and there was no way I could get over there before the action started. Charades it was. I waved to get her attention, ducked behind a table, and motioned for her to do the same. She looked at me like I was crazy, which I probably was. She didn't have much to hide behind over there, anyway. I looked at her surroundings. Oh, no… she couldn't possibly be _that_ lucky. There was no way. I would rather be over there with no cover than way across the room with a table to protect me.

A gunshot sounded, and the musicians beside Cerilea went crazy with Track Seven: "Two Hornpipes."

I groaned. Ever since I had purchased the Pirates of the Caribbean soundtrack, I had wondered what a hornpipe was. Now, I was in the same room with two of them, playing one of my favorite songs, and I wasn't close enough to get a good look. However, I dared not emerge from my cover, slight though it was.

It wasn't until Elizabeth cracked Norrington's own rum bottle over his head that I stood up. The crew, both characters and those newly acquired, gathered into a vague group as Norrington was thrown out the door. I really wanted to go to him; Norrington was possibly my favorite character. But what would I say? "Hi, I'm Jill. You seem like you've had a rough time. I'll bet you'd look hot if you were sober and not rolling in pig slop." No, I thought. My eloquence effectively stops at my mouth.

This is when I saw Cerilea run out the door after the poor man. She got there before Elizabeth, at least. I slunk over to the doorway to get a better look – or a better place for eavesdropping.

"Are you alright?" I heard her ask softly. "Let me help you… Easy, now." A husky male voice –presumably Norrington's – asked an incoherent question. "I'm Cerilea," she replied.

Hesitantly, he said, "James Norrington."

I could practically hear her smile kindly, no doubt displaying perfect teeth. "James," she repeated. "Come with me, and we can get out of this place."

My eyes narrowed. I'd had enough. I stepped out of the doorway to find Cerilea doing her best to support Norrington. Her lack of height was giving her problems. "Cerilea!" I said as though surprised. "There you are. Everyone left the tavern the other way. We need to hurry if we're going to get on board." I looked at Norrington and smiled (no difficult feat). "Are you coming with us?" The eagerness in my tone barely needed to be faked. He nodded. I grinned.

"Let's go," Cerilea said.

"Do you need any help?"

Norrington scowled. "I can walk." He let go of Cerilea, only to sway and stumble sideways. She caught him, of course, and laughed.

"Maybe not," she said.

Cerilea guided Norrington to the _Black Pearl_. I followed, somewhat cross. Once we got to the docks, Cerilea stopped to let Norrington get rid of a little alcohol. I was debating on whether to stay when I heard someone familiar.

"Captain Sparrow," called a very annoyed female voice. I winced. It was Elizabeth. Maybe if we stayed apart, I wouldn't get irritated at her as I usually did.

With her began the talk of Davy Jones' heart. This was hardly new to me, so I needn't have stayed. So, as much as I wanted to hear Norrington's wonderfully scathing sarcasm, I left to find out what my duties were and whatnot.

It was, after all, about to get very exciting around here, and I didn't want to get lost in all the confusion.

**Aren't you glad you read that? Now, review!**

**Just to keep you reading, I'm going to tell you something I wasn't planning on revealing until later. This story... has a plot! And later, there will be a _plot twist_! Isn't that exciting?**


	3. Mistaken Identity

**Author's Note: These next two chapters are very short and don't contain much plot. It's just a few scenes I had to get in there before the real action started. Stay with me, and we'll have some good plot goings-on later.**

**Disclaimer: No. Just... no.**

My duty was to scrub the deck. Pintel and Ragetti had snickered as I was assigned. I didn't get it. Was deck-scrubbing some sort of pirate insult? Was I a swabbie? Was that bad?

After a while, I shrugged these doubts off and got a bucket. I wasn't too worried about the workload. Characters in _Pirates of the Caribbean_ spent an inordinate amount of time leaning on the rails, furthering character development and plotlines. One would think that running a ship would take a lot of work. Not so for this world. You didn't see important characters _working_.

Unfortunately, in all my viewings of the movies, there was one thing I had never given thought to; it's _hot _in the Caribbean. I'm not saying that it was "kind of warm." It was scalding, blazing, _flaming_ bloody hot. The sun beat down on everything beneath it. It wasn't just the sun, either. It was humid to the point of being muggy. The very air was thick with heat. I could feel it as I sucked in each gasping breath. It was downright oppressive. So, I enjoyed spending the day periodically dipping my arms in cool, soapy seawater. It helped me survive.

Besides, no one notices a swabbie. It was the perfect eavesdropping job.

This is not to say that there was much to eavesdrop on besides Jack and Elizabeth. After the first time, I figured out the hard way that Ragetti and Pintel's conversations just weren't worth it. Gibbs spent most of his time trying to keep up with Jack (and you have to admire anyone who does that). So, despite the perks, swabbing the deck was a boring job.

Luckily, as I had predicted, I had a lot of off-duty hours. Usually, one could find me watching the ocean. I liked the ocean, and I could spend an unusually long time looking at it, considering that it's just a whole lot of water. Exciting, isn't it?

Late one evening, I was dutifully cleaning the deck. You wouldn't think that mere planks of wood would require that much scrubbing, but they managed to hold a ridiculous amount of… well, I didn't really want to know what all it was. The point is that I should _not_ have had to spend that much time scouring it. Cerilea was leaning on the railing (What did I tell you?) with dear _James_. They were having a little talk while I simmered nearby.

"Do you always have one of those with you?" Cerilea asked, indicating the bottle of rum in his hand. Her tone was mostly playful, but there was a slight edge of disapproval. Ah – naturally, she didn't like rum. I should have known.

Norrington didn't fail to notice that. "Don't turn your nose up at it. We _are_ pirates," he added, not without bitterness. He paused. "Besides, it's gotten me through the last few years."

"Why?" she asked. "Why did you need it?" This, then, was the part where he confided in her and she comforted him, and they became nigh inseparable and got hitched and had many children – in that order, of course. The wood underneath me got scrubbed a little harder than necessary.

Norrington didn't answer for a while, and so raised my hopes. Perhaps he'd tell Cerilea that he didn't want to talk about it, or that she didn't need to be so nosy. However, he was doing no such thing. "I've had my share of the world's cruelty," he said at last, his voice pained and barely audible. I risked looking up and saw that he was forcing a sardonic smile. The smile dropped and he sighed. "I don't remember much when I'm… drunk." His mouth twisted slightly with the last word.

"Not all the world is cruel," she reminded him gently. I scowled.

He snorted. "So says the innocent young girl."

Her brow furrowed. "I've known cruelty, James. Don't judge me." This was getting to be too much for me. I had to do something or go mad. A childish plan came into my head, born of jealousy. No, I thought. It was too immature, even for me.

Norrington reached out hesitantly and touched Cerilea's arm. "I'm sorry." That was it. Immaturity aside, my foolish scheme was better than standing up and murdering Cerilea right there.

They stood together and looked at the sea for a long moment. I waited impatiently, staring intently at the deck so they wouldn't suspect me. Finally, I heard Cerilea say, "I have to go." Then there were footsteps across the deck, coming toward me. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw boots come in range. And so, I implemented my plan.

Casually, I overreached in a scrubbing motion. I pretended to slip and my elbow "accidentally" knocked into the nearby bucket of soapy water. The bucket rocked once, twice, and spilled its contents all over my victim. I looked up in mock surprise, which soon turned into genuine shock.

Cerilea wasn't the one standing there, soaked from the knees down. It was _Norrington_.

For one, long, horrifying, stretched-out minute, I gaped at him with my mouth hanging open, and he stared back at me, stunned and angry. Then, all at once, the blood rushed to my cheeks and I started babbling. "I'm really, really sorry. I'm so sorry. It was… I didn't mean to! Are you okay? Of course you're okay, it's only water. I'm sorry! Do you need me to get… something…?" My stream of apologies slowed and stopped in the face of his intense, heated stare. I swallowed.

"I'm _wet_," he bit out. His voice was dripping with condescension – even more than his boots were dripping water. I winced. "I _think_ I might survive. I suggest you be a little more cautious about your _swabbing_." From the way he put emphasis on that last word, I knew for certain that it was an insult now. I tried pitifully to shrink from existence while he stormed away.

"James!" Cerilea called. She gave me the Look and ran after him.

Unfortunately, I was on a ship in the middle of the Caribbean Sea. There were, therefore, no rocks for me to crawl under. So instead, I moaned and smacked my forehead on the empty, upturned bucket. I glared at it. "I blame you," I growled.

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	4. Rawk!

**Author's Note: Again, short and not much plot. Stay with me; it'll get better.**

**Disclaimer: Disclaim!**

The next day consisted of much awkwardness. I carefully did _not_ look at either Norrington or Cerilea for most of the day. This wasn't entirely necessary, as Norrington was back to his rum and Cerilea didn't really think anything of it. In fact, she came to talk to me. We hadn't spoken in a while. Naturally, she was busy with her exciting job that had something to do with sails – not to mention attracting all the men in the story (especially the only man in the whole tale I was actually interested in… but I'll quit ranting now). So I was understandably surprised that she had time to hold a conversation with me.

"I really thought I was getting through to him," she told me, frustrated.

"Maybe," I said dismissively, ever the supportive one. Her ability to understand and "get through to" people was another thing that got on my nerves. I can feel bad for someone, but I never quite know what to say. Perhaps my time spent on fanfiction had drained my people skills.

"He just seems so… broken," she said, interrupting my thoughts.

My annoyance at her softened a bit. "You know who broke him, don't you?" I said conspiratorially.

Her eyes widened. "No."

I jerked my head in the direction of Elizabeth, who was leaning suggestively against the mast while sneaking furtive glances at Jack. "The word is that she was engaged to him, and then dumped him for a blacksmith." Cerilea was hanging on my every word. I loved it. "Now she's engaged to the blacksmith, and here she is ogling the captain," I concluded with a flourish.

Cerilea was in shock, but righteous anger was rising to the surface. "Thank you," she said darkly and stalked away, no doubt to confront and comfort Norrington about this new tidbit of his past. For just a moment, I felt bad. What I had told her was none of her business. Then again, it wasn't my business either, but I guess that's the way it goes with movies.

I wondered whether I should have included the tiny detail that said blacksmith was her brother Will, but I decided against it. She would find out soon enough. The reunion should be interesting, especially with Elizabeth involved. I could see it now.

"RAWK!" I shrieked, jumped three feet in the air, and spun around. Cotton was standing right behind me, grinning like an idiot, and his bird had squawked right in my ear. I glowered at them both.

"What?" I snapped.

"Rawk! Draw your weapons! Rawk!"

I stood there translating for a few seconds. I looked at Cotton for confirmation. "I need a sword or something?" I guessed hesitantly. Cotton nodded happily and gestured for me to follow. We went down below, where Gibbs was waiting.

"Hello, there, Mr. Gibbs," I greeted him, trying to restrain the image of a secretary.

"Ah! You'll need a weapon," he said. "Are you trained in the use of a sword or pistol?"

I wasn't, actually. The only way I knew how to fight was hand-to-hand. However, because this was an action movie, a weapon could be very useful and life-saving and all that. "Do you have a knife?" I inquired.

"Dead men tell no tales! Rawk!" I took a moment to speculate on the telepathy between Cotton and his parrot. I mean, what was going on between them? Maybe Cotton just agreed with everything his counterpart said. You couldn't really tell.

"Cotton's right, lass. A sword would do you more good." I smiled. Well, at least _someone_ cared about my welfare around here. I would have to hang out with Gibbs more, although I needed to remedy the whole "lass" thing.

"Actually," I said matter-of-factly, "I'd probably kill myself with it. I think I can handle a knife, though." It was kind of hard to argue with that, so I was given a knife and sent on my way.

I jumped up the steps and ran into none other than yesterday's accidental victim. Needless to say, he looked a lot more attractive than the first time I ran into him in Tortuga – a fact I wisely decided not to comment on. "Hi," I said sheepishly.

He glared. "Hello." He turned and strode away, but I followed him like a lost puppy. And thus, my dignity went out the window – or porthole, or whatever.

"Look, I'm sorry about the whole mess…"

He raised an eyebrow. "Yes, you've said that – repeatedly."

I blushed, but reveled in his sarcasm, even if it was directed toward me. "Well, I…" Luckily, he interrupted me, because I had no idea what I was about to say.

"If you'll excuse me, I have more pressing matters." His pace quickened.

That ticked me off, regardless of the fact that he was completely awesome. "Like chugging rum?" I called after him nastily, and immediately regretted it. He stopped and faced me slowly.

"Do you have a problem?" he asked threateningly.

I managed to simultaneously struggle for a response and keep from hitting myself in the forehead. Why did everything I said to Norrington seem to be an accident? Slowly, it dawned on me that this was probably the last time I would get to say something to him; we were arriving at Isla Cruces tomorrow. After that, he wouldn't show up until the third movie. I gave him a small smile and opened my mouth to say something… well, Cerilea-like.

"Rawk! Abandon ship!" cried an irritatingly familiar mock-voice.

I turned around. Cotton was wearing a stunned expression that said, "Did I actually say that out loud?" I frowned at him. "What," I hissed, "do you want… _now_?" He put his hands up, as if in defense, and shook his head. I watched him run off. I was going to apologize to Norrington for the interruption, but he had disappeared. So, irked and thoroughly defeated for the day, I retired to the crew quarters and eventually fell asleep, despite the difficulty of staying in the hammock.

**Please. I beg of you. Review. Feedback makes me a better writer, which I desparately need. And none of this, "Gud. Update." stuff, either. REAL feedback.**


	5. Sunrise Injury

** Disclaimer: ...**

**Author's Note: I apologize for the lateness. School has been rather busy. At any rate, I was iffy about this chapter. There isn't that much plot; it's mostly just our dear Jill. I used this to get as many characters (and as much sarcasm) in here as possible. I hope I made up for the lack of plot with entertainment. The next chapter is much more exciting; it should be fairly easy to write, so I'll have it up soon enough.**

A cacophony of shouting dragged me, kicking and screaming, from the blissful realms of unconsciousness. I pried my eyes open and glared at the nearest person, who happened to be Ragetti. He noticed and leered. "Rise and shine," he said, giggling.

I shifted my groggy gaze to the ladder that led up to the deck. No sunlight filtered inside; it was completely dark. I looked back at Ragetti. "Does it _look_ like the sun is up to you?" I snarled.

Nearby, I heard a familiar snort. "Welcome to life on the sea," Norrington said. Though the words were tame, his tone was particularly vicious on this dubious morning, most likely from a hangover. "Isn't this what you've always dreamed of?"

I rolled over to reply, which is not the most brilliant of ideas where a hammock is concerned. I managed a face-plant into the deck. Groaning and muttering, I sat up and pinched my bleeding nose. Norrington, I noted, had stood and taken a couple of steps forward. He hadn't completely lost that endearing chivalry, then. "I signed up to travel and clean wood," I said, though a little thickly as I was holding my nose closed, "not to be roused in the middle of the night by hygienically-challenged seafaring ruffians!"

Norrington chuckled. I looked up, shocked. He looked decidedly amused for someone whose annoyance had just called him a dirty pirate. Still smirking a bit, he started forward. For a moment, I thought he was going to help me up, but he kept going. Well, I suppose one can't have everything. Still, I had made him laugh! That made the score: Jill, one; Cerilea… I stopped counting after I ran out of fingers. Even so, I did a little jig right there, completely forgetting about my poor nose.

Luckily, there was little deck-scrubbing necessary. I stood around, more or less, occasionally nursing my facial injury. Surely, I thought as I checked for blood for the hundredth time, such a wound shouldn't be wasted. However, it seemed that the whole escapade had been for naught. I could have slept in. I began to have pleasant thoughts involving a real mattress and a down comforter – not to mention a hot shower. My musings of room service were interrupted.

"Hey," said an irritatingly perfect voice behind me. I turned around, but Cerilea wasn't addressing me. Norrington had been standing a ways behind me. She touched his arm. "Come with me; I have to show you something."

"What?"

She smiled. "The sun will be up soon!"

Norrington shook his head. "I've been on the sea longer than you know and seen enough sunrises, thank you. You see, they're generally quite predicable." With Cerilea, his bitingly sarcastic tone transformed into a gently teasing voice. I scowled, but only a little.

Her eyes sparkled. "Have you ever seen a sunrise _with_ someone?" she asked a bit shyly.

He showed a small, but genuine smile and they left, leaving me with my arms folded irately. _I_ had never seen the bloody sunrise with someone. That annoyingly honest voice in my head said, _Anyone who knows you well enough to want to watch a sunrise with you knows you well enough to not wake you up that early._

"Shut up," I told it. This earned me a strange look from Pintel, who happened to be too close.

Fortunately, I got work at that point. "Oy, lass!" Gibbs called. That was me. I ran up to him. "I need you to…" At this point, however, I lost him, as he started use an extraordinary amount of ship terminology. It went completely over my head; I looked up to watch it whiz by above me and lost sight of it in the haze of the distant horizon. Since it was long gone, I began to sternly lecture dear Gibbs in my head. "I know I'm new," I thought at him, "but you should know that my name is not 'lass.' It is, in fact, Jill. I know it's an unimaginative name, but it's mine nonetheless. It's an easy mistake to make. I just thought that we should clear up the misunderstanding." I was wrapping up this speech at the same time that Gibbs ended his with, "You understand?" I smiled sheepishly and shook my head. He sighed with a long-suffering patience that only he possessed and held out one end of a rope. I took it dubiously. "Now," he explained slowly, "when I yell, 'Pull!" you pull."

"Why didn't you just say so?" I cried. Gibbs turned away, defeated. I felt a bit guilty for giving the man such a hard time, so I was determined to give my pulling extra effort. Gibbs scrambled up a rope ladder to stand on a little thing that protruded from the mast, where he performed a very complicated-looking maneuver with his end of the rope. He straightened up.

"Pull!" he bellowed. I pulled – I strained against the weight on the other end, fighting for ground. "Keep pulling!" I turned around and put the rope over my shoulder, using that for leverage. Suddenly, something at the other end gave way. As the ground rushed up to meet me for the second time that day, I vaguely head Gibbs yell, "You can stop pulling now, lass!" I got my hand up in time to avoid a serious impact, but my nose collided firmly with the back of my right hand. I sat up, thoroughly disgruntled, and shielded my face from further injury by covering it with both hands.

"Are you all right, lass?" I peered between my fingers at a concerned (yet slightly amused) face.

He helped me stand up. "I seem to have misplaced my dignity," I responded. "Can you help me look for it?" He just looked puzzled. I sighed. "I'm fine."

He clapped me on the back. "Don't worry about the work for a while," he said consolingly. "We haven't much to do, anyway." I grinned appreciatively at him and left.

I decided to lean on the railing. After all, I reasoned, it was where practically all the plot happened. Maybe I'd get lucky. I glanced around. No one seemed inclined to stop and talk. I whistled and drummed my fingers on the railing impatiently.

I smelled liquor before I head the voice associated with it. "Hallo." I turned around to see a whole lot of mascara, but soon the rest of the face came into focus. Jack Sparrow looked a little confused. "Just who might you be?" he demanded, swaying a little as he spoke. I blinked a little to clear my eyes of the alcohol that suddenly permeated the air.

"You hired me in Tortuga," I explained.

He crinkled his nose and looked me up and down a bit disdainfully. "Did I?" He brightened. "Say, you came with that woss 'er name, didn't you?" I was about to remark on the ambiguity of that question when he continued. "Do the pair of you happen to be close comrades?"

"No."

His face fell a little. "Ah. That's too bad." He looked at something over my shoulder. "She has got a lot of potential."

"I thought you were on to Elizabeth," I said curiously.

He gave me a grin that was chock full of charisma. "Pirate," he said simply. Then he leaned over to continue looking over my shoulder. I turned around. Cerilea and Norrington were standing at the bow of the ship, watching the sun slide up into an increasingly pink sky. I narrowed my eyes. Norrington laughed. Jill, one; Cerilea, one more than she had five minutes ago. A glance assured me that Jack was hardly interested in whatever facial expression I might be making at the Caribbean's newest almost-couple.

I was in a bad mood again, and I felt like taking it out on someone. "Captain," I said innocuously, turning back to him, "there is one thing you ought to know about Cerilea." He smiled expectantly. I cleared my throat for dramatic effect. "She has an older brother… someone named Will Turner?" Jack choked a little and stumbled away, looking quite distraught and a bit scarred.

I cackled. Pintel, who had been approaching me, looked frightened and changed course. I mentally berated myself; he might have been coming for some plot development. He walked over to Ragetti, who was a few feet away from me. The pair of them watched the little cute-fest over at the bow. Cerilea leaned on Norrington's arm. "Aw," Pintel commented.

Ragetti sniggered. "What a couple of love birds."

"Yeah, maybe they'll get _married_. Can you imagine that?" I was most offended.

"She don't look like the type to marry a pirate."

"He'll clean himself up right quick. That's what happens when the love bug bites," Pintel asserted.

Ragetti looked puzzled. "Is it?"

Pintel shrugged. "I dunno. But mark my words, they're gonna be all sweet and fuzzy and what from now on."

"Sweet and fuzzy," Ragetti parroted, giggling.

I gave them both my most menacing death glare, but to no avail. They were completely oblivious. Pouting, I watched the sunrise by myself.

A couple of hours later, my boredom was relieved by Jack's shout. "We're here! Ready a longboat! Lizzie, you're coming with me! Yes, I suppose he can come, too, if he must. You Tortuga wenches, you're coming, too! You men can row the boat. Gather some spades! And someone get my jar of dirt!" Pleasantly surprised at being able to come, I obediently got a couple of shovels, made sure I had my knife, and jumped into the longboat with everyone else. And thus I found myself, with naught but a dagger, a shovel, and a very swollen nose, slowly drawing nearer to the infamous _Isla Cruces_.

**So... review. Tell me what you liked and what you didn't.**


	6. Isla Cruces: Part I

**Disclaimer: I own neither Pirates nor even the idea of the T-shirt mentioned here. That belongs to Kitty East. (Thanks!)**

**Author's Note: Sorry it took so long! I had to break Isla Cruces up into two chapters to keep a moderately uniform length. I've already started on the other half. In a manner of speaking. All right, so I'm two sentences in. But I'll finish it soon! Anywho, enjoy.**

The longboat was crowded. Two extra people in a tense atmosphere make a big difference. Jack clutched his jar of dirt, occasionally stroking it. Elizabeth looked bored, but was posing slightly at the same time. Norrington looked decidedly unconcerned with existence, though he glanced at Cerilea every so often. Cerilea was watching the horizon thoughtfully. I sighed. Ragetti and Pintel were arguing.

"I always heard it pronounced 'Kray-ken,'" said Pintel gruffly.

"'Kraa-ken's how it is in original Scandinavian," Ragetti said. "Kraken's closer to that."

"Well, we ain't original Scandinavians, are we?" the other sneered.

"It says 'Kraa-ken' in the English dictionary," I said distantly. As the sea is constantly in motion, it took me a few seconds to realize that we were no longer moving in a specific direction. I looked over at Ragetti and Pintel, who were supposed to be rowing the boat. Instead, they were gaping at me – so was everyone else, in fact. There wasn't much to say in defense of myself. "What?" I demanded. They continued to stare. Usually I like attention, but I was beginning to feel uncomfortable. I decided to ignore them, which is surprisingly hard in such a small space.

"Get rowing, you two," Jack ordered. We resumed our journey.

Before long, we reached the shore of _Isla Cruces_. I hopped off the boat. "Sweet land!" I cried out. Norrington snorted and walked past me. I made a face at his back. Cerilea stood next to me.

"I… actually didn't miss it that much," she said. With that, she followed Norrington. I made a face at her, too.

I grabbed a shovel and trudged along behind everyone else. Elizabeth and Jack kept arguing over the direction of the compass. I let my mind wander.

I imagined the whole confrontation over the chest. This was going to be hilarious. With Cerilea as Will's sister now involved, the thing would be thrown upside down. We'd all need shirts, bearing the message: "I survived the Turner family reunion." This was probably going to be less like a reunion, I mused, and more like a collision. At any rate, I was going to have lots of fun.

After much debate, we managed to locate the spot. Cerilea and I helped Norrington dig whilst Elizabeth tried to catch Jack's attention with her various poses. We ended up with this colossal, ancient chest. Jack broke the lock and eased the lid open. The box was filled with letters and keepsakes. I perked up; I had always wanted to know what was in here. However, Jack ruthlessly shoved everything aside in search of the heart. We watched intently as he pulled out a smaller, sturdier chest. We leaned closer to it. We were rewarded with a deep _tha-thump_ coming from inside. Everyone drew back in surprise.

"You were actually telling the truth," Norrington said, impressed.

"I do that a lot," Jack assured him. "You people are always surprised." I raised an eyebrow.

"With good reason," said a voice from behind us. We turned around. There, dripping water, looking exhausted yet triumphant, was Will Turner.

"Will!" Elizabeth cried. She ran over and embraced him.

"How did you get here?" Jack asked, bemused.

Will grinned. "Sea turtles, mate – a pair of them, strapped to my feet."

"Not so easy, is it?"

Cerilea stepped forward. "Will?" she asked tentatively.

He frowned at her for a few seconds, and then his eyebrows shot up. He let go of Elizabeth, who looked highly affronted. "Cerilea?"

"Will!" she yelled joyously, and sprinted toward him. He met her halfway and they hugged.

"What are you doing here?" he asked incredulously. "I left you in England."

"And I left England to look for you," she replied. "You didn't think I would follow you?" Both Norrington and Elizabeth were looking a bit depressed at this point.

Luckily, Will changed subjects. "We have to talk… after I finish some business." He turned back to Jack. "I should thank you, Jack. After you tricked me onto that ship to square your debt with Jones…"

"What?" Elizabeth squawked, sounding amazingly like Cotton… I mean, Cotton's parrot.

"What?" Jack tried to sound astonished and indignant, but with all the success of someone trying to hold water in a fishing net.

Will ignored them both and put his hand on Cerilea's shoulder. "…I was reunited with our father." Elizabeth and Norrington looked positively ecstatic at the news that Will and Cerilea were, in fact, related.

Cerilea looked up at her brother, a frown creasing her perfect features. "You mean Davy Jones, don't you? You found Father on Jones' ship."

He nodded and drew a knife, a very familiar movie prop. "I'm going to fix that," he said grimly. Kneeling by the chest, he took out the key, too.

"What are you doing?" Jack asked suspiciously.

"I'm going to kill Jones," Will answered coolly. With a split-second _whing_ of sliding metal, Jack's sword was threatening Will's throat. I backed up hurriedly. This was about to get dangerous.

"I can't let you do that, mate. If Jones is dead, then who's to call his beastie off the hunt?" Another metallic sound was Jack's only warning before Cerilea's blade knocked his away from Will, startling Jack. "Don't you get into this," he warned her. They brought their swords up to point at each other.

Norrington's sword was drawn and targeting Jack before they could get any further. Jack turned to Norrington.

"Thanks," Will told Norrington, but he spoke too soon. He was looking down a slender length of steel before he had completely gotten the word out.

"Not so fast," Norrington said. "I can't let you kill Jones, either. Lord Beckett desires the contents of that chest. If I deliver it, I get my life back." Cerilea, I noted, seemed mightily frustrated about the whole affair. It seemed that even a Mary Sue can't control three desperate men with weapons, one-track minds, and conflicting goals.

They struck. With a wonderful, yet unrealistic display of swordplay, they moved away from us. Elizabeth, Cerilea, and I stood together for a moment in common exasperation. Then Elizabeth took off, screaming after them. "This is not how grown men settle their affairs!"

Cerilea didn't even bother. With a perturbed sigh, she sheathed her sword. I turned and spotted Pintel and Ragetti racing toward us. "Don't put that thing away yet," I said. "We may have trouble." Of course, that last statement hardly covered having a horde of near-invincible fish people try to kill you for a disembodied heart, but it was the most I could say at the moment.

We watched Pintel and Ragetti scurry by. They looked rather panicked, what with their terrified expressions and flailing arms. "Oi! We've got company!" they yelled. Ragetti looked at us as he passed. "Fish people!" he shrieked, waving his hands for effect. Then they were gone, spreading their message to everyone else further down the beach.

"It sounds serious," I intoned, but my voice was shakier than I had meant it to be. In fact, I was starting to feel nervous. I knew that Cerilea, at least, wouldn't get a scratch in this battle. Maybe I could just stick to my usual philosophy and stay behind her. That should work. I hoped that would work.

Cerilea stood completely still with her head cocked to one side. I listened, too, but all I could only hear the distant sounds of Elizabeth screeching at the men. Suddenly, Cerilea stiffened and slowly drew her sword. A moment later, I heard the sound of people running on sand – a lot of people. I gulped.

"They're coming for the chest!" Cerilea shouted in William Shatner style.

"No!" I snapped scathingly. A crowd of mutated pirates bearing toward my location was _not_ good for my nerves. I was getting hysterical. "They're just on shore leave! Didn't you see the condo when we passed it? Of _course_ they're after the bloody chest!" I probably looked and sounded a bit mad, judging by the way she was staring at me, but I didn't care. I pulled out my knife and readied myself for attack.

Cerilea considered my weapon. "You take the chest and run," she instructed. "I'll distract them and catch up with you later."

I stared at her for a moment. "Bloody heroics," I muttered, but didn't argue. If I could avoid being attacked with swords, then I would. Sheathing my knife, I picked up the chest and ran. I didn't look back, and I certainly didn't slow down. Dodging trees and undergrowth, I made my way through the jungle.

Five minutes later, I emerged at another beach. I stopped to pant for a little while. I was not in the best shape, and the chest was weighty. Besides, I couldn't hear anyone anymore. That changed abruptly when Elizabeth came crashing through the forest. I jumped away, but no one was following her.

"Give me the chest," she demanded. I had no objections. Let her get chased by Jones' crew. The instant it was in her hands, she took off. "We have to keep it moving; we can't let them find it!" she shouted over her shoulder.

I began to jog back towards the boat. Where I had left Cerilea was on the way there. I felt a tiny bit guilty about being such a coward. If she was still there fending Jones' people off, then perhaps I could help. My plan was ruined by Cerilea herself, who rocketed out of the jungle with amazing speed for her petite size. She was pursued by at least ten fish people. "Don't go that way!" she barked as she passed me. I would have made a witty comment, but at that moment I had to run for my life.

**Review! Sorry, Sue action comes later. Because I know you were looking forward to that.**


	7. Isla Cruces: Part II

**Disclaimer: Jill is me. Cerilia is mine. Sarcasm is amazing.**

**Author's Note: I know, it took forever! I post so erratically. I apologize to everyone.**

Cerilea and I dashed across the beach, feet pounding in time across the sand. It irked me that we were going the same speed. As I was a good head taller than her, my legs were much longer, besides which I was running more quickly than I had ever thought I could. However, she was matching me stride for stride, and I even got the feeling that she was _letting_ me keep up with her. It was simply not fair.

We rounded a curve and came face-to-face with a cluster of boulders, about five feet high at its highest point. I leapt on top of it. I was several feet closer to the other end of the boulders before I realized that Cerilea had stopped. I turned; she was just standing on the sand, sword drawn, waiting for Jones' crew to catch up with us. "What are you doing?" I shouted.

"We have something to guard our backs now. We can fight, and I will!"

"You're a moron! Do you know that?"

She just gave me a Look. I huffed, but there was nothing to do. I jumped down beside her and took out my knife. I knew how to hold it; I had seen enough action shows. A mob came around the bend and charged us. It was time to implement my original plan; stay behind Cerilea. Just as they reached us, I slid between her and the mass of boulders. Call it defending the sides.

Cerilea was an amazing fighter (as if there were any question as to that). Her sword spun too quickly for me to follow it, flashing through the air and clanging against other weapons. Anyone having actually learned any method of fighting knows that fighting multiple opponents is challenging at best. Cerilea, however, made it look all too easy. No one could shift positions without her notice. She was faster than all of them put together. Even defended from two sides as I was, I sometimes had difficulty avoiding injury.

I heard a bellow from my right. One of our enemies was rushing at me, sword raised above his head. That was too easy. I pivoted, lifted my knee, and slammed my heel into his abdomen. Foot and torso connected with a solid, satisfying thud. This has a tendency to stop people. He staggered backwards, looking slightly ill.

I was still smirking when Cerilea's sword came down two inched from my face. I jumped backwards. "Hey!" I glared until I realized that there had been a fish person right behind me, and Cerilea had just saved my life.

"You can thank me later!" she said as she returned to her battle. I scowled.

As I lashed out at the occasional adversary that got too close, it dawned on me that we had been fighting for a while. If everyone else got back to the longboat before we did, then they might leave without us. That was a terrifying thought. "Cerilea, we need to get back to the longboat!"

"I was just thinking that," she said through clenched teeth as she parried two or three attacks at once.

I noticed a couple of them climbing up the boulders. They were starting to surround us! One of them stood right above us. With a war cry, he lifted his foot to stomp on whatever he could reach. I hooked my knife behind his other ankle and jerked, hard. He came crashing down, war cry transformed into a pained yelp midway through. "We have to go!" I saw an opening in Jones' men to the left and shoved Cerilea through. "Run!"

"Split up!" she called out as she took off in a different direction. "I'll meet you back there!"

"I don't know where the longboat is!" I screamed, but it was no use. Cerilea was already engaged in defending herself as she ran. I kept to the beach. It was the only sure way I had of finding the stupid boat again. Unfortunately, I was pursued by two of Jones' crewmen. One of them was limping, lucky me.

By the time I arrived, gasping for breath, at the longboat, all was chaos. The infamous wheel of fortune had arrived already. Cerilea fought on one side of the longboat; everyone else defended the other side. I joined the fray, trying to get to the boat. Norrington and Will each rummaged around in the boat. I eventually made my way over to Cerilea; I reached her at the same time Norrington did. I – it was my lucky day, apparently – ended up wedged between them. Several consecutive thuds from behind told me that Will was unconscious.

It was getting bad. The enemy's numbers never seemed to thin. Even I, stuck in the middle as I was, barely had time to shove one guy away before blocking the next attack. Everyone was pushed to the limit – except Cerilea, of whose limits we shall never truly know.

"I have an idea," I thought to myself, since everyone else would have killed me for it. "Let's throw Cerilea into their midst. She'll slaughter the lot of them in less than five minutes. Certainly there will be an unbearable amount of angsty guilt, unsolicited romance, and drama afterwards, but at least by then I'll have the option of running away." However, I knew I'd be outvoted, so I kept my mouth shut.

"We're not getting out of this!" Elizabeth cried desperately.

"Not with the chest," Norrington realized. There was a collective moment of horrified silence, and then Norrington dived behind all our backs and grabbed the chest. "Get in the boat!" he shouted as he stepped back towards the jungle.

"No!" Cerilea screamed. She dashed up to him. "You can't!"

"I have to," he said simply. "Go." Cerilea, delicate figure wracked with sobs, reached up and gently touched his cheek. He closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, they were filled with determination. He was no longer the drunk we had picked up in Tortuga. He was a soldier again. "I'm sorry."

"No! James…"

"Go!" He ran. Cerilea stood there, weeping miserably.

"I say we respect his final wish!" Jack shouted over the commotion.

I dragged the moron (meaning Cerilea, not Jack) into the longboat by the arm. "Come on!"

"Stop! Let me go! I have to help him!" she yelled.

"Just get in the boat!" I didn't have time to deal with her. I was too busy watching Norrington lead everyone away from us. _I_ knew he would be all right. I had seen the movies. Even so, as we rowed away, I had to bury my face in my arm to hide the inexplicable tears that blurred my view of Norrington's retreating back.

**I know, I'm horrible. I'll update as soon as I get the next chapter done, and there will be much humor to make up for this. Please review.**


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